


Artistic Appreciation

by winterkill



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Coffee Dad Sakura Sojiro, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Futaba is her usual trolling self, Haru just wants to make a damn good cup of coffee, Sojiro enables some naughty behaviors in his attic, Yusuke draws erotic art and has terrible romance game, minor Amamiya Ren/Sakura Futaba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21801811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterkill/pseuds/winterkill
Summary: The first time Yusuke sketches Haru, his hand moves of his own volition, and he's halfway through the curls of her hair before he notices.
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke/Okumura Haru
Comments: 13
Kudos: 37





	Artistic Appreciation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [extra_credit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/extra_credit/gifts).



> This is a new fandom for me. I wrote this several months ago and never posted it. I hope someone else enjoys this rarepair!

Boss watches as Haru pours the hot water over the grounds nestled in the paper filter, never letting too much water stand at once. She imagines the coffee landing, drop by drop, into the cup below. Boss is talking, instructing her about the type of beans being used, and the coarseness of the grind for making pour-over coffee. Some of it isn't new information, but Haru absorbs it just the same, inscribing it in her mind. The earthy, bitter smell of coffee fills Leblanc, and Haru closes her eyes for just a second.

“Try it,” Boss instructs when the water is through the filter.

Haru opens her eyes and stares at the dark liquid before lifting the cup and taking a sip. The coffee is the perfect temperature and she shuts her eyes again, savoring the taste.

“It's actually good!”

She can almost _hear_ Sojiro smile at her.

Haru’s brewed and drank hundreds of cups of coffee at Le Blanc, and each one is unique. She's come to distinguish the myriad types of beans, the combinations, the levels of acidity, and the preparation methods. Sometimes, she imagines herself back in her grandfather's cafe; Leblanc’s few, but loyal, customers and worn booth seats make the comparison easy.

She's worked at Leblanc at least two afternoons a week since graduating high school last spring. The first few times, Sojiro offered to pay her, but eventually he gave up after she kept leaving the money tucked under a placemat behind the bar.

“Please, your instruction is enough,” Haru eventually told him, and Sojiro never mentioned it again. The last thing Haru needed was money. She’s content listening and learning from Sojiro; she keeps a notebook filled with any information that might be helpful in opening her own cafe someday.

The bell on the door jangles and Futaba enters, throwing herself onto one of the stools at the bar. Haru looks at the clock on the wall and wonders where the afternoon went. 

“Yo, Haru,” Futaba raises a hand in greeting. 

“Futaba-chan, how was school?”

“Boring, but fun, ya know?” Futaba tugs her Shujin Academy blazer off, tossing it over the back of the stool. Wasn't it about time to switch to the summer uniform? Haru was a student there just a year ago and already she couldn't remember.

She smiles at Futaba, “Want some curry? Boss made some earlier.”

“Hell yeah!”

Laughing, Haru serves up two plates of curry and rounds the counter to sit on the stool next to Futaba. The smell of the curry makes her stomach grumble. The booths are empty behind her, but Haru imagines them filled with her friends, barely a year ago, discussing infiltrating Palaces. They’d spread apart as a group over the last year, but always congregated here; Leblanc felt more like home to Haru than the sterile apartment she'd shared with her father, or even the small studio she’d rented near her university. It's easy to imagine everyone back here, together.

For now, though, Haru is content to watch Futaba teleport the curry into her stomach.

* * *

The _Sayuri_ is still the first thing Yusuke sees when he enters Le Blanc. The rest of the cafe has faded into a comfortable familiarity, a dip in the wood floor, a scuff in the vinyl of one of the booths; Yusuke knows these features without really _seeing_ them.

Not the _Sayuri_ though--his mother's expression captivates him. He imagines her, not as a painting, but _real_ , looking at him. It makes Yusuke long for something he can't remember and never really knew; he has to make do with the expression his mother left in her painting.

Yusuke’s with Ryuji and Ann today; they’re flopped in a booth, side-by-side, with Yusuke across from them. Ann details out her summer trip to model abroad and visit her parents, and Ryuji mumbles something about loafing around, not having applied to college this year.

“In two weeks I'll be homeless.”

From the slack-jawed looks on Ryuji and Ann’s faces, he must not sound worried enough.

“What the hell, man?”

“ _Yusuke!”_ Ann smacks her hand on the table and shakes her head, “How can you sound so casual about that?”

They get a shrug in response, and Yusuke takes a sip of his coffee before responding, “It’s only for a few weeks until the new term starts.” He explains some paperwork error regarding the dorms at his college. “I'll stay with you, Ann, or sleep in the art room,”

Ann looks like she might acquiesce before letting Yusuke sleep under a table in the art room, but Boss chimes in from behind the counter before Ann has a chance to speak.

“Crash upstairs. Ren won't be back until after summer break anyway.”

“Thank you for the kind offer; I will accept it.”

He’ll be able to look at the _Sayuri_ everyday while staying here. 

Sojiro chuckles and goes back to wiping the counter. “No need to be so stuffy about it; I clearly run a home for wayward youths here anyway.”

The fondness in his voice is transparent, and Ann and Ryuji laugh and drink more coffee.

Nearly a week later, Yusuke walks toward Leblanc with a suitcase rolling behind him; it knocks against the uneven bits in the sidewalk, and he's glad he doesn't have to walk too far. Every few feet he has to stop and adjust the canvas and art supply bag so they don't slide off. 

Leblanc is typically quiet at this hour, after lunch but before dinner--there’s a single middle-aged woman reading in the booth near the door. The bell jangles when Yusuke enters. As usual, the _Sayuri_ draws his eyes away from the rest of the room.

Haru's behind the counter today, and she welcomes him with a bow before noticing that it's just Yusuke.

“Oh, hello Yusuke-kun.”

He nods in her direction and she smiles back at him, “Good afternoon, Haru-san.”

“Would you like some coffee?”

The question is practically a moot point; everyone but Futaba wants coffee as soon as they enter Leblanc--even Ryuji had come to appreciate the taste if doctored with enough cream and sugar.

“Please,” Yusuke replies and slides into a bar stool across the counter from Haru. He watches her put the filter over the coffee cup and slowly pour the water in.

“A suitcase?”

“Boss is letting me stay upstairs for a while.”

Haru smiles as she pushes the cup closer to Yusuke, “He’s so kind, isn't he?”

* * *

Since her father's death and living on her own, Haru’s become fixated on doing things for herself. She's lived a life of privilege--a year ago she couldn't cook for herself, or do her own laundry. Most days, she longs to forget that she's wealthy and blend into the background, but the Okamura name isn't so easily banished from people's memory. So, Haru does what she can--buys cookbooks and learns, re-assigns all her father's housekeepers, and lives alone.

Cleaning comforts her, especially when her mind is too busy, so she wipes down every surface of the bar and booths one afternoon, and eventually makes her way to the attic. Today, she’s thinking about her father and that's never productive.

It doesn't surprise Haru too much, but Yusuke is messy. He's been living in the attic for less than a week, and it looks like an art store exploded onto every surface. She imagines how all of it was packed into the meager luggage Yusuke brought and can't figure out how how it fit; the fact that he only has three outfits might play some factor.

So Haru cleans, sweeps the floor and picks up snack wrappers. She doesn't touch the desk; Yusuke probably has some system in the chaos. There's an old canvas cloth piled on a shelf, and she moves his easel to slide the cloth beneath it; scraping dried paint off the wood floors would be taxing.

Satisfied, Haru sits down on the couch and leans back. This attic holds as many memories as the downstairs of Leblanc. Haru imagines her friends seated around the small table planning a mission or celebrating a victory. The afternoon sun filtering in through the windows is warm, and Haru decides to close her eyes for just a moment.

She must have fallen asleep because when she wakes up, she's horizontal on the couch and there's a blanket draped over her. The position is awkward with her feet still on the ground and it takes her a minute to sit up probably.

“You're awake.”

Yusuke's back, perched on a chair in front of his easel, sketchbook in hand. He looks so _natural_ and poised there that Haru stares for a second.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep.” She reaches up and tries to smooth down her curly hair, probably to no avail.

Yusuke smiles at her serenely, “You cleaned?’

Haru blushes, unsure why she's embarrassed given that the cleaning was obvious. “Yes, I, uh, was thinking too hard and needed something to do.” She nearly apologizes preemptively but stops herself.

“Thank you.”

Haru tugs the blanket off of her lap and stands, folding it as neatly as she can. She places it on the seat and turns to Yusuke. “I’ll leave you be so you can work; if you want coffee or curry, let me know.”

“You could stay!” Yusuke blurts and looks for a second like someone else said the words.

Haru freezes in front of the couch before sitting back down, “O-okay.” Sojiro was downstairs and there were never _that_ many customers. If there was an influx, he could yell for her. 

There's a long, heavy pause before Yusuke speaks, “Staying here without Ren is the strangest feeling.”

Haru hums in response and smiles when Yusuke looks over at her. “It seems like yesterday, but also so long ago that we all sat here together.”

Yusuke's eyes close like he's picturing it, too.

* * *

“Haru, have you ever been...ya know?”

Futaba’s in her summer uniform now, once again perched on a bar stool. Haru wipes the length of the bar with a damp rag and tries to divine what Futaba is getting at.

“'Ya know?’” she parrots back, wondering if Futaba will pick up on her confusion or if she will care even if she does.

“Ren comes back next month. Inari will have to leave the attic.”

“You miss Ren a lot, don't you, Futaba-chan?” She tries to direct the conversation to something more concrete. Futaba blushes and looks like she's about to slide off the bar stool and hide. “I miss him, too; we all do” she adds as Futaba wilts, trying to give her an easy out.

Futaba stops sliding out of the stool and straightens back up. “Ren and I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish, like I used to do with Mom. The last two were to go to school and to learn to be okay without him around.”

“You should be proud of yourself.”

Futaba nods, “The list is done, and I--I’m okay; I’m going to school, but I’m not sure I’m _okay_ without him…” she covers her face with her hands. Haru reaches across the counter and rests her hand on Futaba's shoulder.

“Have you tried telling him how you're feeling?” Ren’s calm demeanor made him easy to confide in, but, then again, Haru had never needed to talk to Ren about Ren himself.

“It's too embarrassing, and I don't want him to worry about me.”

“Just tell him you miss him.”

Futaba sits up straighter and shakes her head. “No, no, no, no! I haven't leveled up nearly enough to say _that_. Besides,” Futaba's demeanour shifts, “don't you have something to tell Inari yourself?” 

Haru looks over Futaba's head at the line of paintings hanging above the booths. Yusuke looked shocked when Boss had asked if he wanted to hang some of his own pieces in the cafe--occupying the same space as the _Sayuri_ too much for him. There were three paintings now, all with small price tags beneath them. Of course, Yusuke is inexorably linked to his paintings and it's not as though she'd completely missed Futaba's insinuation. Was her crush on Yusuke really so transparent?

Futaba is scowling under her giant rimmed glasses, waiting for Haru. She wipes aggressively at an already-clean patch of counter to avoid responding.

* * *

The first time Yusuke sketches Haru, his hand moves of his own volition and he's halfway through the curls of her hair before he notices.

They’ve developed a routine: Haru finishes her shift at Leblanc and visits him, sometimes with coffee or pastries or curry. Some days they talk, some days Haru reads. Yusuke sketches, or paints, or sometimes reads.

Yusuke's first sketch of her is while she's reading, from what he can guess by the cover, a mystery novel about a heist. You can't take the phantom thief out of the girl, apparently. It's summer, and Haru has taken off her sweater, draping it on the couch arm beside her. Yusuke skips that detail, focuses instead on the slope of her shoulders and the way her fingers curl around the spine of the book as she reads. He tries to recreate the chiaroscuro of the afternoon sunlight, and the way Haru scowls in concentration as she reads.

In the second sketch, Haru is making coffee, Yusuke having moved downstairs with his sketchbook for some new scenery. It's easier to sketch her when she's not looking at him. In the third, she's sitting on the floor of the attic reading a book on different varieties of coffee beans. 

Sometimes, they talk about school or their friends or when Ren will comeback to Tokyo, but they exist side-by-side in silence frequently, too. Haru never asks what he’s drawing, she only smiles at him if their eyes happen to meet. 

Sojiro catches Yusuke sketching one day; he's seated at the bar, and Haru isn't even working. Yusuke's focus is interrupted when Sojiro leans over the bar, viewing the sketchbook upside down.

“Okumura-san?” 

Yusuke stops himself from blurting a reflexive “No!” His expression isn't schooled enough to stop Sojiro from chuckling. Haru’s face looks up at him from the sketch, and he wonders about the accuracy of certain features. “It’s just practice,” he finally answers.

“You should show her.” Sojiro's suggestion has the same effect as if Haru had seen the sketch herself--abject mortification. Yusuke reddens enough that Futaba, perched in a booth, notices.

“Does Inari have a _crush_?”

The blurted “No!” escapes his lips this time, and Yusuke slams his sketchbook shut. He can't decide if he wants to run up to the attic or out Le Blanc's front door into the street. Futaba is still cackling, and Sojiro is eyeing him like some sagely romantic advice is on the tip of his tongue.

“It's just...artistic appreciation.”

Shit, that sounds lame, and Yusuke can't even convince himself that he means it. 

“Even _I_ know better than that,” Futaba chimes in again, and Sojiro raises a hand as though it will silence her--it doesn't. “I’ve seen how you look at your 2-D Haru.”

Yusuke is older, more mature: “Do you have any room to talk about pining? It's only been a month since Ren visited and--”

It's a cheap shot, and when Futaba storms out of Le Blanc, he can't blame her. Yusuke presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and shame floods him. If Haru knew how unbecoming he’d behaved.

“My apologies,” Sojiro's not the person to say it to, but there's no one else. “I suppose I should reflect on why I reacted so explosively.”

To his surprise, Sojiro places a firm hand on his shoulder. “Futaba's a strong girl; she's just embarrassed you were able to strike so close.”

“I’ll apologize to her once she can stand to see my face.”

A cup of coffee appears in front of Yusuke, and Sojiro mutters something about going for a smoke.

* * *

June carries a morosity to it that Yusuke can't shake; his mind turns the events with Madarame and his mother over and over until he can't recall a single kindness Madarame ever showed him. 

The thunk of Haru's feet on the wood stairs signal her arrival. Yusuke's flopped back on the bed, arms akimbo. He can’t see Haru, but it's easy to imagine her curly, strawberry blonde hair appearing between the stair railings. Yusuke means to sit up and greet her but can't manage it fast enough, so his first image of Haru is her leaning over the bed, peering down at him.

“Yusuke-kun?”

“Good afternoon,” he tries to sound normal but doesn't succeed.

“Are you alright?” 

Yusuke glances away. She looks down at him, and he looks through the window above to avoid her. “I was reflecting on Madarame.”

Not _sensei_ anymore, but Madarame.

“It’s that time of year,” Haru speaks like someone who knows the dread of a certain month. Yusuke nods. The mattress dips as Haru sits next to him on the edge of the bed. Yusuke lifts his head, he can see the curly poof of her hair; she isn't looking at him.

“Last year was only the first one, but I thought a lot about my father in November, especially the actual day.” Haru stops and twists her hands together in her lap.

“My apologies,” Yusuke says, “for reminding you of it. It's not pleasant to think about.” 

Yusuke, if he wanted, could talk to Madarame; he'd considered the idea more than once, although he has no idea what he'd say. Madarame felt remorse, but it was forced by his changed heart. Haru doesn't have that option at all.

She shakes her head, quick, decisive motions, before turning her body to face him. Haru presses her palms onto the comforter and leans in. “It's okay. I think about my father most days anyway. Usually, something random reminds me.” 

Yusuke nods and thinks of all the things unrelated to art that stir up his memories. “I feel the same,” he replies.

“Don't guilt yourself over your thoughts.” Haru pulls her legs up onto the bed and turns to face Yusuke more directly. “I try and remember how kind he was when I was small, before…” Haru crumples the fabric of her skirt into one of her hands.

Yusuke sits up; lying down suddenly makes him feel vulnerable. “Sometimes I wonder if I was ever more than a tool to him.”

“You were more, once, and so was I.” The confidence in her voice surprises Yusuke given how similar their circumstances are; his resentment deepens with the passage of time. “That doesn't change the fact that they treated us like commodities.”

Haru hugs him; their heights are similar enough when seated that she is able to rest her chin on his shoulder and her hair tickles his face. Today, she smells like coffee beans. Yusuke thought himself familiar enough with the shape of Haru that he could sketch her from memory, but as he rests his hands on her back, he realizes the multitude of details he'd missed.

“They say 'time heals all wounds’ or something. It sounds kind of cheesy, but it might be true.”

Yusuke laughs into her shoulder.

* * *

“Inari’s dense as a brick,” Futaba advises, “he's off in his own world; you’ll have to throw yourself at him, and even then he might still be confused.”

It's Wednesday afternoon when Haru decides she's going to go for it; she's not quite sure what _it_ is, but she's marching up the stairs, and it's going to be _something_. She’s Noir, a former Phantom Thief; she’d stood up to much bigger obstacles than some persistent romantic feelings.

The attic is silent, and Haru pauses at the top of the stairs--she focuses on the sound of Futaba describing her school day to Sojiro, and the muted clank of coffee mugs being stacked. Yusuke is painting, which is not unusual, but this time is canvas is sprawled out on the floor over the drop cloth Haru placed down weeks ago. The painting is abstract, swathes of colors fighting with each other. He’s absorbed, and Haru almost convinces herself to back down the stairs; the _look_ Futaba will give her stays her course. It's five steps across the plank flooring, and Haru’s kneeling, bare knee landing barely an inch from a blob of paint the same inky color as Yusuke's hair. 

“Yusuke-kun.”

He looks at her, slowly, like waking up from a nap. There's paint on his wrists, and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows; Haru covers one of his hands with her own, and the contact makes Yusuke realize she's there.

“Haru?” Her name is a question, just the slightest, bereft of an honorific, and of course she notices. Yusuke's hand moves under her own.

“Um, I wanted to talk to you.” Yusuke’s looking at her, and the entire plan, even with Futaba's dress run, is slipping from her fingers like sand. 

“Mhm?”

Haru wants so badly to be a woman of action. Yusuke's _so close_ , and she ignores the squelch of paint against her knee when she leans in. She tightens her fingers around Yusuke's hand and kisses him. It's unpracticed, but Yusuke doesn't push her away. His hand comes up her arm to rest just above her elbow.

“Haru?” Her name again, whispered an inch away. Yusuke's fully present now, and Haru watches him put the situation together.

“I like you.” Haru blurts it, tries to sound confident, like calling her persona in battle. “Futaba convinced me to tell you. I suppose I could have led with that.”

He tilts his head a bit to the left, and Haru watches his hair shift. She stops breathing when Yusuke curls a lock of her hair around his index finger.

“A pleasing development.”

“ _Really?!_ ”

* * *

One morning, Yusuke leaves his sketchbook open on the bed in the attic for Haru to find. It's turned to his most recent: Haru napping in the afternoon sun just two days before. She’d fallen asleep on the bed instead of the couch for the first time--an intimacy unimaginable a week before. Yusuke watched her for a long time, until he itched to touch her and started sketching her instead. It wasn't a replacement, but it was something. 

She's sitting on the bed when Yusuke arrives, exactly where he thought she'd be. Her legs are crossed at the ankles, all refined upbringing, and the sketchbook is in her lap. Haru flips through it--the pages aren't full, but a good chunk of the middle is dedicated to sketches of her--reading, pouring coffee, napping, studying. Yusuke watches her trace over a line and eventually clears his throat.

Easily startled, Haru jumps at the sound and looks up. “Yusuke-kun!”

“Haru,” Not for the first time, he says just her name and is rewarded with a smile. “I see you found my secret.”

“You left it out!” Haru sounds incredulous, “Most of these are from... before?”

“Yes.”

She's silent for a moment, still flipping, until she reaches the front cover and puts the sketchbook aside on the blanket. “The latest one, though, it's from the other day?” 

Yusuke's afraid she's going to leave and scrambles for a way to stop her. “You looked peaceful, and I wanted to capture it.”

“I didn't know you watched me so much.” 

“I do, though. Perhaps even more in the last week.”

Haru hasn't run screaming from the attic, so Yusuke takes the chance and walks over to her. Closer, the embarrassment is clear on her face, and Yusuke feels a stab of guilt. 

“My apologies” he offers before Haru can reply.

Yusuke’s close enough that Haru grabs his hand, “No, don't apologize. It’s a little embarrassing, but it's not bad. It's nice to be seen, as myself, I mean. People always try to get close to me because of my father. They all want my influence but don't see _me_.”

Haru's thoughts echo his own about Madarame and being used. “I never think of your last name,” Yusuke confesses.

“I know,” Haru replies, squeezing his hand. Her skin is warm, and Yusuke leans in unconsciously. There are so many details about her that a sketch can't capture.

“I didn't know how to tell you about the sketchbook; please don't mock me too harshly.”

“Sit,” she says instead, tugging on Yusuke's hand until he obliges. “Does anyone else know?”

“...Boss and Futaba.”

Haru reaches peak embarrassment and covers her face with her other hand. It takes Yusuke a moment to realize Haru is _giggling,_ and when she looks over at him, tears are forming in the corners of her eyes.

“....You’ve just been _hiding in corners_ of Le Blanc sketching me.”

“It would appear that way, yes.”

Her giggling intensifies until Yusuke wonders if she's going to hyperventilate. He'd wanted her to know, forced the situation, but he hadn't expected laughter, maybe a slap, or abject horror. He shifts, uncomfortable, and Haru notices.

“I’m sorry. It's flattering! I’m just surprised you're not drawing Ann, really.”

Ann was beautiful, objectively, but Haru, in his mind, had blossomed into something infinitely more compelling. It was some combination of romantic interest and artistic appreciation. Yusuke thinks of telling her, runs it over in his head a few times, and ultimately can't find the words.

“You’re more beautiful than Ann,” he says instead. 

Her giggling fit stops, and Haru raises an eyebrow at him. He expects her to protest the comparison and, not wanting to afford her the chance, Yusuke leans in and kisses her. The smell of coffee lingers around her, and Yusuke thinks, again, of the nuance his sketches can't capture. He can't draw the fruity taste of her lip balm or the warmth of her cheek when he reaches up to touch it. Despite this, kissing Haru makes Yusuke want to draw her all the more.

Haru’s arms find their way around Yusuke's torso, and she leans in until they’re closer together. It’s a long, unhurried moment after that, and when they eventually do part, Yusuke buries his face in Haru’s curls. She lets out a tiny squeak when Yusuke’s lips brush against her neck. It’s an accident but the reaction interests him, so he repeats it intentionally. The second kiss makes Haru laugh, and Yusuke continues until she's giggling again.

“That tickles!”

Yusuke chuckles against Haru’s skin but relents, moving back to look at her. Her cheeks are pink, and she's scowling slightly, the smallest crease between her brows. It's adorable, and Yusuke comes to terms with how stupidly attracted to her he is.

“Can you stay?” he blurts.

“I actually only came here to see you.” Her blush deepens and she glances to the window. He catches her chin between his fingers until she's looking at him. A small smile graces Haru’s face when their eyes meet, and, suddenly, Yusuke’s afternoon is booked.

* * *

Haru recognizes the scrape of a bar stool, and Futaba’s voice echoes from downstairs. She's telling a story, and Sojiro laughs. For some reason, their voices make Haru curl closer to Yusuke on the bed. Futaba's arrival and the orange evening sun signal that the afternoon had passed completely.

“Futaba-chan’s back from school.” From where her head is resting on Yusuke's shoulder, Haru can't tell if he might be asleep. The summer afternoon was peaceful enough that she'd definitely dozed off herself.

“Futaba-chan won't come up here,” Yusuke responds, reading her thoughts.

“Curry would stop her even if she thought to.”

Selfishly, Haru doesn't want to burst the bubble they're in; the attic might as well be on another planet. Yusuke runs his fingers over her bare arm and Haru sighs.

Then, Yusuke's stomach grumbles.

Sojiro only raises an eyebrow when they descend the stairs and immediately serves them plates of curry. Haru self-consciously smooths her dress.

“I didn't know you were still here, Okumura-san.”

“She was upstairs canoodling with Inari,” Futaba winks dramatically behind her glasses. Haru is tired of blushing, but it happens again; Futaba snickers.

Sojiro looks at the three of them and shrugs.

“We were discussing art,” Yusuke says between mouthfuls of curry.

“Is that a euphemism?” Futaba asks before Sojiro interrupts her.

“Whatever you kids call it these days.” Now that the curry is served, he grabs his pack of cigarettes from the counter and heads to the door. “Don't set the place on fire.”

Futaba gives her the same ridiculous grin, and Haru avoids looking at her for the rest of the meal.

* * *

The summer days pass, and Yusuke finds himself mired in artistic appreciation and lust. The more time he spends with Haru, the more he wants to draw her, and the more he touches her, the more explicit his thoughts become. A dream comes to him one humid night, Haru on the bed beneath him, exposed in ways he's never seen with his own eyes, and he's at the desk, gripping a pencil before he's completely awake. Pen touches paper, the same sketchbook half-full of Haru, before he's overcome with shame and drops the utensil back to the desk. The image is still there, though, burned into his mind’s eye, and he doesn't sleep again.

News of their relationship disseminates outward until all their friends know. Futaba, of course, was aware from the beginning. Haru confides in Makoto and suddenly, everyone is asking about it.

If Haru notices his weird behavior, she doesn't comment on it. They go on dates, movies and dinner and amusement parks; Haru pays for everything, and Yusuke doesn’t argue because his poverty is no secret. Yusuke kisses her and imagines more and more each time. In a fit of insanity that he couldn't even begin to rationalize, he tells Ryuji about his feelings one day when they hang out alone together. The explanation is long-winded and vague, and Ryuji is laughing by the time Yusuke finishes.

“Duh. She's your girlfriend, of course ya wanna have sex with her. It'd freaky if ya didn't want to. The art shit is kinda weird, but it’s you. Just tell her.”

“Your advice is crude but applicable.”

Ryuji shrugs and leans back in the booth, “Haru’s pretty hot, in a fancy way.”

Although not incorrect, Ryuji’s assessment is so lacking in nuance that Yusuke can't even begin to correct it.

* * *

“Haru, if you’re free, can you stay tonight?”

Yusuke isn't looking at her, head obscured by a giant canvas on his easel. His tone projects enough meaning, though.

“Okay,” she replies after a second of silence, hopefully not long enough for Yusuke to read into. She stares at the words in her book, another heist novel, but they blur into meaninglessness.

“Really?” Yusuke's normally temperate tone is overlaid with surprise, and he looks out from behind the canvas. 

“Of course.” There's nothing to stop her, just her studio apartment to return to and nowhere to be tomorrow, other than here.

They get dinner, convenience store sandwiches, and walk to the bathhouse down the street. At the point where Haru would rush to catch the last train, she just _doesn't._ Haru watches her phone as the last minutes of the day pass and midnight hits. The train is probably pulling out of the station right now, and she isn't on it. 

“It's midnight.”

“There are no more trains,” Yusuke replies, heavy with implication. He produces a t-shirt from somewhere and hands it to her, “Unless you carry pajamas in your handbag.”

Haru laughs and takes the t-shirt, unfolding it. It's got an anime girl on it, of all things, and she bites her tongue to stop from asking where the hell it came from. “Thanks.” 

Yusuke, ever the gentleman, turns while she changes. Her skirt and blouse are folded on the bed, and she's wearing the oversized shirt before Yusuke turns around. It's short, and Haru squirms, unaccustomed to her legs being so bare.

“It suits you,” Yusuke says, looking her up and down. Haru admires that he can say that with a straight face. 

“When you asked me to stay” Haru starts, uncertain, “you meant…” It's going to be so mortifying if she's read the signals wrong.

“Yes,” Yusuke wobbles on the word a bit, “Ryuji told me to just tell you.”

“To tell me what?” Haru’s heart rate picks up, and she is suddenly hyper-focused on the length of the t-shirt, tugging at it. 

Yusuke hasn't moved from his seat. “That I’ve been thinking about,” he pauses. Even though Haru knows where he's going, she still holds her breath, “amorous relations.” She sees Yusuke’s expression, almost a scowl, for just a second before he hides behind the easel again. 

_“Yusuke-kun_ ,” Haru laughs, “I’m sure that's _not_ how Ryuji phrased it; no one says it like that!” 

“He didn't use those exact words, no.”

Haru goes over to Yusuke and looks over the canvas at him. He's uncomfortable, arms crossed and shoulders hunched. _He’s nervous_.

“Okay.” 

Like pulling back a curtain to let the sun in, Yusuke’s demeanor brightens, and he stands up from the chair. He walks the couple steps around the easel and takes Haru’s hands, “You mean it?”

“I do mean it.”

Yusuke’s smiling, Haru smiles back, and they waste a literal minute like that. 

“So,” Yusuke says, eventually. He glances at the bed behind Haru and then back to her. “I have the, um, appropriate--” He drops her hands, goes to the desk, and produces a condom. 

“When did you--?”

Yusuke looks more embarrassed than Haru has ever seen him and says just one word: “ _Boss._ ”

Haru must look horrified because Yusuke nods slowly, just once.

 _“Oh no._ ”

“It just manifested on the desk one day. Who else could it be, though?”

“Futaba-chan, maybe?”

The concept is hysterical, and Haru starts laughing so hard that she has to sit down on the bed. As she wipes tears from her eyes, Yusuke comes and sits down beside her. The ridiculousness of the situation dispels her nerves, and she leans against him. Yusuke's fingers touch her chin, getting her attention, and her eyes fall shut when he kisses her. She sighs when Yusuke runs a hand through her curls; this is familiar by now, and Haru relaxes even further. She’s only a little startled when Yusuke’s other hand lands above her bare knee. Of course he notices, pulling back and looking at her with concern.

“S-sorry,” she explains, “I suppose I just realized how little--” she trails off, looking down at the stupid t-shirt. 

Yusuke chuckles and slides his hand up stopping somewhere in between her knee and the hem of the shirt. She doesn't jump this time. Haru kisses him, wanting to scrub the awkwardness of the moment. She feels bold enough to unbutton Yusuke’s shirt, movements uncoordinated without looking down. It takes her a moment but eventually she's able to part the fabric and press a palm against Yusuke’s chest; his skin is warm and he jumps at the contact, just as she had.

It's Haru’s turn to laugh, “Nervous?”

“Suitably.” Yusuke slides his hand further north, under the hem of the t-shirt. Haru watches him. 

“We're on the same page, at least.”

Haru doesn't exactly know what she's doing but, then again, Yusuke probably doesn't either. She lets instinct guide her when she pulls her feet off the floor and flops back onto the bed. The contact dislodges Yusuke's hand and leaves her more exposed than before. Yusuke follows her movements.

“You're looking at my underwear, aren't you?” It's not much of an accusation but Yusuke's gaze snaps back to her face and an offended scowl crosses his features. 

“N-no!”

They're navy, nothing special, although she's unsure what other pair she'd have picked had this been planned. Yusuke is still sitting on the edge of the bed where she left him, and Haru holds out her hand and wiggles her fingers.

“Come here.”

Yusuke obliges her, shrugging off his shirt along the way. Haru smiles when he stops and folds it, a weirdly fastidious idiosyncrasy amidst the chaos of the attic since he'd lived there. He returns to the edge of the bed, closer to her. His first contact is pushing the shirt up, exposing her stomach. Haru blushes horribly when Yusuke runs his fingers over the area, hoping the dimly lit room hides her embarrassment. Yusuke studies her throughout, and her heart rate picks up. Eventually, pushing the shirt up becomes difficult and Yusuke works his way back down, stopping at the obvious barrier of her underwear. 

“Haru, may I?” Yusuke leans down and kisses along her stomach, waiting for a response. Haru almost knees him in the head.

“Yes,” she responds, surprised at how steady she sounds. Yusuke hooks a finger under the waistband, and Haru lifts her hips. It's a simple thing, a tug, and they're gone. Yusuke folds them, too, and Haru, distracted for a second, giggles at him.

“So fastidious. In movies, there’s usually more dramatic flinging.”

“Are you teasing me?” Yusuke’s tone carries an undercurrent of _something_ that Haru wants more of. His hand lands on her now-bare hip.

“...Maybe.”

Underwear discarded, Yusuke slips his hand between Haru’s clenched knees. He waits, watching her, until she lets them fall open. She’s exposed, embarrassed, and even the tickle of Yusuke dragging his fingers up her thigh doesn't distract her from it. She bites her lip and looks toward the window when Yusuke finally reaches her. His touch is tentative and unpracticed, but Haru squirms against his hand regardless. She can't bring herself to look at Yusuke until he touches her cheek.

“Haru?” He looks worried and Haru tries to reassure him with a smile. She circles her fingers around his wrist and tries to adjust his angle of approach; it ends with Yusuke sliding two fingers inside her and, this time, she does more than squirm. If not technique, there's there's effort in his movements and, after a moment, Haru outright moans Yusuke's name. 

“S-stop,” Haru stutters eventually, placing her hand over Yusuke's again. Worry crosses his features, and Haru uses her elbows to prop herself up, shaking her head. “It's not bad!” She tries to compose herself, “Just... frustrating.”

Yusuke smiles wryly and nods, “Watching you was…”

Haru can't bear to hear the end of that statement and sits up, kissing Yusuke hard to shut him up. Hands unoccupied, Yusuke pushes the t-shirt up as high as it will go before being stopped by her arms. They have the same idea; Haru raises her arms, and Yusuke tugs, freeing her from the arms of the shirt. The room is warm but Haru shivers. Yusuke kisses her collarbone, working downwards, and slides a hand down her back.

“Yusuke-kun,” Haru starts, but gets distracted when his mouth makes its way to her breast, “Can we--?” She feels guilty to be on the receiving end of so much attention and puts a hand on Yusuke's leg to get his attention--it works. He’s looking at her when her hand wanders to the fly of his pants. Her touch is light, but Haru feels herself blushing at what she finds there--it’s not like she didn't _know_. “You’re--” she starts, unsure of where she's even going with the idea.

“Aroused, yes,” Yusuke replies, like he's talking about the weather.

The next logical step is to divest Yusuke of his remaining clothes, so Haru starts there. The pants are easy enough to unzip, and Yusuke stands to help Haru. Yusuke steps out of them, kicking them to the side. 

“Not going to fold them?” Haru teases, an attempt to distract from the dry feeling in her mouth. Yusuke's position puts Haru at eye level with his erection and Haru stares; the underwear don't hide much. 

“No, not this time. There's better things to focus on.”

Haru reaches up, pausing for an instance to look up at Yusuke, who nods, before sliding down the last bit of clothing. Haru touches him with some trepidation. 

“I--” Haru starts, unsure, “I’ve never touched a p-penis before, so…” She gives an experimental upward stroke and watches Yusuke shut his eyes. She repeats the gesture, grip tighter and Yusuke holds out a hand to stop her.

“It doesn't require a death grip.”

“S-sorry.” Her mortification must be apparent because Yusuke leans in and kisses her on the forehead.

Haru waits before trying again. The next two attempts are more fluid, and Yusuke outright groans. His reaction excites her so much that she squirms on the bed and almost reaches down to touch herself.

“H-Haru,” he sounds so unsteady, and Haru finds that she _likes_ it, wants to make it happen again. “If-if you're ready, I want to.”

She nods and finds the condom where Yusuke had laid it on the bed. That conversation seemed like hours ago; how much time had even passed? She inspects it for a second before pressing it into Yusuke's palm. A memory from a health class flashes through her mind, and she decides to let Yusuke take care of it. She scoots back on the bed and lies down while she waits. 

Then, Yusuke is beside her on the bed, pressed against her. Haru’s skin tingles where they touch, and she strokes a hand through his hair, bringing their foreheads together. 

“Here we go,” she whispers, aims for a conversational tone, but her voice sounds odd in her ears. 

“You might have assumed, but this will be the first--” Yusuke flounders for the language; Haru kisses him. She isn't surprised; she’d never seen Yusuke mention another girl, and he was so aloof with strangers.

“Me too.” 

He’d probably assumed, just as she had, but hearing her say it seems to relax him, which cuts through the embarrassment of talking about it. Yusuke shifts so he's on top of her, and Haru moves her legs to give him room. He's watching her, and she nods. She holds her breath as Yusuke lines up his cock. There's a couple false starts and Haru moves, trying to help. As slowly as he goes, there's still a stab of discomfort, and she winces.

“Haru?”

She reaches up to pat Yusuke's cheek, “It’s okay.” And it mostly is, really. Haru shifts again and Yusuke settles against her. “The condom is helping, I think.” She'd expected friction but when Yusuke slides halfway out, it's smooth. He returns and Haru lets out a shaky breath. There's a rhythm after that; Yusuke moves at a steady pace, and Haru shuts her eyes, embarrassed to watch him watching her. At some point, the pain dims and Haru bends her knees; the result is deeper, and she lets out an undignified yelp.

Yusuke starts laughing, and it disrupts the pacing, “Better?”

Haru's reply is a shaky “yes” and to pull Yusuke down and kiss him. Yusuke thrusts again and uses one elbow to hold himself up. He ghosts his other hand over her breasts; it makes the entire thing both better and worse, and Haru feels overwhelmed with sensation. 

When Yusuke comes, he says her name and collapses against her. His forehead is damp where it's pressed against her collarbone. Haru runs her fingers through his hair.

“My apologies for the subpar performance,” Yusuke's words are muffled against the pillow and Haru's shoulder. 

Haru's laugh reverberates through both of them, “I’m not grading you.”

“Nevertheless,” Yusuke lifts his head and looks down at her, “I will endeavor to improve.”

Yusuke moves off her to sit at the edge of the bed and cleans up. Sleepiness overcomes Haru and she closes her eyes. She feels Yusuke stand up and eventually return. The room darkens; Yusuke must have turned off the desk lamp. He places a hand on her shoulder, and Haru opens her eyes again. 

“If you can get up, we can go to sleep.”

Haru nods, taking Yusuke’s hand when he offers it and wobbling as she stands. Yusuke steadies her and wraps an arm around her shoulders when she leans against him. She looks down at the blanket and notices the blood.

“I’ll wash it tomorrow.”

Yusuke kisses the top of her head before reaching to pull the blanket down. “It's nothing to worry about.”

Haru crawls in first; the worn futon isn't even that comfortable, objectively, but at the moment she could probably sleep on the floor. Yusuke follows her and wraps the blankets around them both. Haru is already half asleep when he nestles against her.

* * *

Yusuke wakes up first; he's on his back, and Haru is sprawled half on top of him, cheek pressed against his upper arm. He tries to guess the hour of the morning by the light filtering through the window but can't, and his phone is all the way on the desk. There's no sound from downstairs, and Yusuke hopes Le Blanc hasn't opened yet. Boss never comes to the attic, but there's always a first.

Haru kicked the blanket off in her sleep giving Yusuke a pleasant view. Trying to avoid jostling her, Yusuke angles his head to look down at her. The attic doesn't get much morning light but it's good enough. He itches to touch her but doesn't want to wake her up.

_I want to draw her like this._

The thought comes to him, unbidden, and is accompanied by an almost instantaneous erection. Yusuke curses his stupid body and tries to get away from Haru, even an inch or two would do. 

“Yusuke-kun?” Haru sounds adorably sleepy.

“Good morning.”

“'Morning.” Haru stretches, just enough that her bare skin slides against Yusuke's, and it’s very impossible to hide anything from her. The realization seems to wake her up further and she sits up. “You’re--”

“ _Please_ don't say anything.”

Haru nods.

Yusuke makes a desperate attempt to steer the conversation, “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Sore, a bit, I think,” she pauses, tapping her chin, “Yusuke-kun, if there's more condoms, we can--”

Yusuke wants to, so badly, and he greedily stares at any part of her he can see. “There was only the one…”

She leans down and kisses him, and at least a few moments are lost to that. 

“I-I can get more. Before Sojiro-san or Futaba-chan get here, I’m going to run home.” Another kiss. “My plants need watered, and I want to change clothes.”

A wave of affection crashes over him, and he’s overwhelmed at the idea of Haru leaving, even though what she said was entirely logical; of course she wanted fresh clothes for the day.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

She shakes her head and her curls bounce, “It's early for you, right? Go back to sleep.”

Honestly, sleep seems impossible in his current state but he doesn't correct Haru. She gets out of bed, and he immediately mourns the loss of her presence. After dressing, she gives him a final kiss and disappears down the stairs.

* * *

It's midday before Haru gets back to Le Blanc. She stares up at the attic window from the street for a moment before going in. The cafe is open, but, as usual, no customers are inside. Sojiro isn't there either; it's only Futaba standing behind the counter stirring a pot of curry.

“Inari's still upstairs,” is the first thing Futaba says to her, although the look she gives Haru definitely implies an unsaid _but you already knew that._

Haru places her tote bag on the stool beside her and sits down. She packed an extra change of clothes and a toothbrush; life suddenly seemed unpredictable. There's an urge to bolt past Futaba up the stairs, and Haru stifles it.

“Is that curry ready?” Haru asks instead--she hadn't eaten anything yet today and the smell makes her realize how hungry she is.

“It is,” Futaba answers and ladles some onto a plate. “One special curry coming right up!” 

Haru thanks her and begins eating. It's a ridiculous notion, but she wonders if Futaba can just _tell_ , as though there's something about her that's actually different. Yusuke's upstairs, maybe still sleeping, and the thought makes Haru blush.

“Thinkin’ about Inari?” Futaba guesses.

“No!” Haru lies.

Futaba gives her a mischievous grin, “Oookay.”

Yusuke does make an appearance, eventually. He looks perfectly composed, as usual, as he sits beside Haru. She's surprised, though, when he leans over and kisses her. It's brief, but the contact is enough to make her mind fill with memories.

Futaba is literally cackling at them.

“I demand a serving of curry.”

“Rude, Inari,” Futaba replies, but Yusuke still ends up with a plate of curry in front of him.

Haru listens to them banter, grateful that they can carry the conversation mostly without her. Sojiro wonders back eventually, and Haru spends the afternoon making coffee for a lazy, but steady stream of customers.

* * *

When LeBlanc closes, the sun is low in the sky, and Haru and Yusuke are left alone again. Futaba mentions hanging out for longer, and Sojiro all but drags her away.

“Make sure you lock up properly!” Sojiro calls as they exit. Futaba cackles down the street until they can't hear her anymore.

An awkwardness settles over them and Yusuke tries to gauge how Haru will react if he asks if she really did buy more condoms. The afternoon had been _excruciating_ , and he wants nothing more than to--

Haru practically attacks him, not even bothering to remove her apron. Yusuke stumbles when they collide but manages to catch her. Not that he minds the contact, of course, nor the fact that as Haru kisses him she seems to be steering them to the stairs.

Their second attempt is better, and by the fifth or sixth, Yusuke thinks they've developed quite a rapport.

* * *

Yusuke still dreams about her, only now his dreams are entangled with actual experiences, making them impossibly more vivid. The desire to draw Haru persists, only now it's overlaid with a veil of eroticism. Wanting to draw Ann, even nude, was like appreciating a well-crafted sculpture. Yusuke hadn't realized at the time, but there was nothing sexual about wanting to draw Ann.

The situation with Haru was utterly opposite.

He's awake one night pondering the situation. Haru's curled away from him, facing the window and fast asleep. She's wearing pajamas, real ones brought from home this time, and Yusuke tries to quash his wayward thoughts. He plays a hypothetical of the conversation over in his mind.

_Haru, would you mind if I drew you naked, possibly in a mildly sexual situation?_

She'd be embarrassed, at best, or angry and think him a pervert, at worst. No way he can imagine it ends with Haru not upset.

If it wouldn't wake her up, Yusuke would get up and go for a walk; Yongen-jaya should be safe enough at three in the morning. Instead, he drags and a hand over his face in exasperation and turns away from Haru.

Days pass, and the entire concept occupies more and more space in Yusuke's mind. He ponders getting outside advice but has no idea who to ask. Guilt settles like a lead weight in his stomach. If Haru notices how distracted he seems, she doesn't mention it. 

Eventually, Yusuke concludes that he has to tell her. Unlike leaving the sketchbook for Haru to find, there's no easy way to orchestrate a situation that will out the issue. 

“Can I confess a secret to you?” Yusuke asks, days later when it's as sorted out as it will be.

They're at her apartment this time, a rare departure from Le Blanc's attic. Haru's sitting at her desk, looking at her fall semester schedule. 

“Of course,” she spins her chair around and looks at Yusuke with a serious expression. If her mind is conjuring horrible scenarios the secret could entail, she doesn't reveal it. 

Yusuke decides to plunge into the deep end with it and blurts, “I want to draw you.” Haru looks confused, and Yusuke realizes he's left out the hard part. “...Naked.” 

Haru tilts her head, almost imperceptibly, and stares at him for what, to Yusuke at least, seems like an eternity. 

“ _Why?!”_

 _Why not?_ Yusuke almost responds. “Have you _seen_ you?” he says instead.

Haru purses her lips, “Yes, daily.”

There was probably no way to convey to Haru what she did to him. To Yusuke, Haru seems confident in herself, but that was a few miles away from being comfortable with what he was asking. Yusuke finds something interesting on Haru's carpet and stares at it--maybe he shouldn't have said anything.

“Not the way I do,” he replies eventually. “I apologize; I shouldn't have said anything. I know it's peculiar…”

“...Okay.”

Yusuke looks up, surprised. Haru’s still in the desk chair, avoiding looking at him. She might be trying not to smile.

“You're acquiescing?”

“For some reason, yes.”

* * *

Madarame used to tell Yusuke that art requires dedication. In hindsight, it makes him laugh when he's in the right spirits--Madarame was never dedicated about anything but stealing his students’ ideas. The lesson sticks with Yusuke, though, and he endeavours to apply it, despite the source. So he tries to be dedicated to Haru--makes drafts, metaphorically speaking--and captures the details more accurately each time.

“Ren will be back in a few days.” She sits at the desk and doesn't seem to notice Yusuke's intense focus on her. 

“I will sort of miss it here,” Yusuke muses.

“We should make the most of it, then, Yusuke-kun,” Haru replies, voice lower than before. There's a hint of suggestion in her tone; Yusuke doesn't think anyone would pick up on it but him. She smiling when their eyes meet, and the suggestion is in that, too.

“A fine idea.”

Haru stands and meets him in the middle of the room. Yusuke touches Haru’s cheek, traces her jaw with his fingertips, a line he knows and can trace from memory. Haru leans into him, and Yusuke expects that, too.

“Yusuke,” she whispers, a breath between them. There's always so much promise in the way Haru says his name, especially with the honorific dropped. They kiss, and Yusuke can't tell who moves first, not that it matters. He hooks an arm around Haru's waist as she slips her arms around his neck. The walk back to the bed, all familiar steps, until Yusuke's legs hit the edge, the momentum of Haru's push forcing him to sit. 

“Your dress is interfering with my plans,” Yusuke whispers up to her, reaching for them hem. He pushes it up as far up as he can until Haru takes over and pulls it over her head.

“Impatient,” she chides, but there's no intent behind it. The dress comes off, and Yusuke is treated to the view of Haru in front of him, clad in only her underwear. 

“Can you fault me for it?” He kisses her stomach, the closest thing he can reach, and it must tickle because Haru laughs. Yusuke runs his fingers along the underside of her bra, blue and lace today. He traces the band until he reaches behind and unclasps it; something he can manage one-handed now.

“Impressive,” Haru compliments, and the bra slides down her arms. She tosses it to the side, too, smiling at him. “You didn't even try to fold them this time.”

“There are better uses of my time,” Yusuke responds. He appreciates Haru openly, and she doesn't blush quite like she did the first few times. Yusuke traces the outside of her breast, watches in anticipation as she gets goosebumps. Haru's warm and soft, other attributes too ephemeral for Yusuke to capture, despite repeated attempts. He imagines drawing this curve, too, and realizes that Haru's actually going to _let_ him. 

“Such as?” Haru breathes eventually, completely still. Yusuke's still tracing his fingers over her, not landing on anything she wants. 

“Are you…teasing me?” Yusuke leans in, whispers it against her skin. 

“Isn't that what _you're_ doing?” Haru counters. Yusuke can hear the smile in her voice.

“Absolutely.” 

Haru clutches his shoulder and lets out a tiny _eep_ when Yusuke's mouth finally moves to her nipple. The noise is distinctly _Haru_ , another detail. By the time Yusuke pulls away, Haru is gasping and has a rumpled handful of his shirt between her fingers.

Haru leans down to tug Yusuke’s shirt up, scowling when he halts her. “That's unfair.”

“I know,” Yusuke responds, kissing Haru as an idea blossoms in his mind. “Lie back.”

Haru moves until she's seated on the bed leaning back against a pillow. There's no embarrassment in her expression when Yusuke watches her; it's a privilege he doesn't take for granted. He slips a finger under the waistband of her panties, pulling them away from her skin. Haru's lifts her hips off the comforter, allowing Yusuke to slide the offending garment down her legs. There's something to be said about undressing Haru slowly, but not today.

She blushes when he spreads her knees, and by the time he's kissed his way down the inside of her thigh, she's covering her eyes with her hands. 

“So you _can_ still be embarrassed,” Yusuke whispers, close to her skin.

“O-of course I can!” Haru stutters as Yusuke distracts her with his fingers. “Who wouldn't be when you--?”

The last thing he sees is Haru's realization of exactly what he's about to do. She's not covering her eyes anymore and looks surprised, like she's about to stop him. She doesn't though, only reaches forward and grabs his shoulder again when she presses his mouth against her.

“ _Yusuke_!”

Haru flails on the bed, and he has to hold her legs open after she closes them on his head. There's definitely technique to this, he just doesn't know it yet. Haru gasps, and Yusuke pulls away from her, just enough to see her expression, vulnerable and lustful. Suddenly, Yusuke wants to draw _that_ , just to memorialize that he put the expression on her face.

“Good?”

“ _Y-yes_.”

Haru clasps Yusuke's fingers where they rest on her knee and outright moans when he slides two fingers back into her and moves to kiss her. He hesitates, maybe Haru won't want to immediately after, but she initiates it and tangles her fingers in Yusuke's hair.

“More?” He whispers to her.

Haru shakes her head, “Later. Now, please take your clothes off.” 

Yusuke laughs and lets Haru help him unbutton his shirt. Kissing Haru doesn't make undressing any easier, but he doesn’t want her to stop, so they manage. He sends his pants sailing, and Haru chuckles as they arc across the room. Yusuke settles on top of Haru, who wraps her arms around him, pulling their bodies together. 

“Better?” Yusuke presses his face into Haru's hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo.

Haru nods, “Much.”

As much as he wants more, Yusuke takes a moment to memorize the details of this moment with Haru--there would be others, of course, hopefully an uncountable number, but each one is distinct. Haru shifts beneath him, and it generates an amount of friction that's almost unbearable. He _wants--_

Too much, maybe.

“Haru,” he whispers into her hair, but what he's really saying is _please._ Haru understands, of course she does, and nudges Yusuke until they're side by side. She kisses him, a brief peck, and vanishes, returning with a condom.

“How should--?” Haru asks, half a question.

There's a myriad of possibilities, some tried, and some yet untried. “Turn over.” Haru listens, looking back over her shoulder at Yusuke once she's facing away. Yusuke wraps his arm around her waist and pulls them flush together. Haru lifts her leg and shifts until Yusuke slides into her. She lets out a tiny gasp when he pulls back and repeats the motion. 

Yusuke doesn't realize it immediately, but this position gives him a lot of access to Haru. He presses kisses to the back of her neck and behind her ear. He moves his hand over her torso, starting at her breasts and moving southward. Haru makes a loud yelp when he reaches down to where they're joined and touches her. Yusuke increases the pace as much as the position will allow. Haru presses against him every time he thrusts forward. She grabs his wrist eventually, adjusting his hand that's touching her.

“ _Yusuke_.” She says his name like she's barely holding it together, and he wants to push her over that edge. 

“Haru, come for me.” Yusuke's surprised at how easily the words leave him; he'll probably feel embarrassed thinking about it later. Haru twists her head to look back at him, and Yusuke buries his face in her hair. 

His words have an effect though--Haru tenses around him, burying her face into the pillow to muffle her cry. Yusuke wishes she wouldn't. He wants to hear her; it’s another ephemeral aspect of her he can't capture and wants to savor. Haru's cry starts a chain reaction in him, and Yusuke tightens his arm around her waist.

Haru pulls away from him, maybe sooner than he'd like, but she makes up for it by turning to face him and kissing him. She runs her fingers over his cheek and into his hair.

“Enjoyable?” Yusuke eyes fall shut while he waits for her response.

“Of course,” Haru responds, “isn’t it always?’

* * *

Haru's dozing, and while Yusuke is loathe to move away from her, a flash of inspiration hits him.

Now's the time.

So, he untangles himself from her as delicately as possible and moves to grab his sketchbook. He finds a pair of pajama pants on the floor and pulls them on--being naked while drawing Haru probably won't help any. Even looking at her from across the attic is getting to him. He tries to remove himself from the situation, to imagine Haru like a model in an art class, and it's impossible. Haru, who's mussed hair and flushed cheeks _he_ caused, who's asleep naked on _his_ bed. 

Well, his borrowed bed, at least.

He's half hard again by the time he turns to an empty page in the sketchbook. He flips through the rest of his sketches on the way to an empty page. Haru takes up _so many_ of the pages. How would the sketchbook would look to an outsider?

Probably like he was obsessed with her, honestly. At least that's what Futaba would say.

It reflects _more_ , though, and Yusuke comes to the realization as he looks at his sketches of her. There's so much more of Haru to capture than just her physical form--her smile when she hands him a cup of coffee, her blush when Futaba teases her. His sketches are accurate but they're not _Haru._

How many details had he missed by focusing on the wrong things? It wouldn’t be the first time his intense focus blinded him. Yusuke starts sketching her and tries to focus less on accuracy and more on how Haru makes him _feel_.

* * *

Haru isn't sure how long she's been asleep, but when she wakes up, Yusuke's sitting on the edge of the bed holding his sketchbook. He's focused on it, so he doesn't notice her for a second. Haru blinks slowly, trying to remove the post-nap fog.

Yusuke... sketchbook... _oh_ , he's drawing her.

It's not that she minds but as the situation coalesces, her cheeks heat up and she says Yusuke's name to get his attention. It takes two attempts before he looks away from the drawing.

“You're awake.”

“How long have you been…?”

Yusuke, of course, has no concept of time, so he shrugs. He goes back to drawing, and Haru realizes there's _nothing_ she can do except watch him work. As the minutes tick by, Yusuke's intense focus on her is appealing. He watches her with the same intense focus as when he touches her. The train of thought quickly becomes outright desire and she tries, and fails, to stop the thoughts. 

“When you asked Ann if you could draw her, how did you do it?” It's not the question she intended to ask, but once it enters her mind she can't stop it from coming out.

“Embarrassingly,” Yusuke doesn't seem to mind the interruption, and he looks to her before he speaks. “It didn't even occur to me that she would say 'no’ or be uncomfortable.”

Haru tosses the knowledge around in her mind for a moment. The story is legend amongst them now; Ann and Ryuji recount it so frequently that Haru almost feels like she was present. 

“Why did you want to?” Haru is pressing Yusuke, but she _needs_ to know; the mounting desire as Yusuke watches her demands an answer.

Yusuke looks down at his sketchbook, “At the time, it was like drawing a nude model in class--an artistic appreciation of form.”

“And this time?” 

His cheeks redden, and Haru doesn't think it's because he's embarrassed over the time with Ann, or at least she hopes he isn't.

“There's an appreciation of form, yes,” Yusuke leans a bit closer on the bed but doesn't touch her. “But there's _more_ ,” he pauses, “I never dreamed about drawing Ann, and I _certainly_ never felt so…”

Heat runs through her at the concept Yusuke left unsaid. She squirms on the bed, just a bit, and it's all Haru can manage to stay still. Yusuke has halted working and is staring at her. Pieces of a puzzle fit together. 

“It's...sexual, sort of?”

Yusuke looks away, “Because it's you, yes.” 

“ _Good_.” The word leaves her mouth before it appears in her mind. Yusuke gets utterly distracted, and the sketchbook slides off his lap and onto the bed. “I-I mean,” Haru amends, trying to save the situation, “If that's the case, then I don't mind.”

He composes himself quickly enough that Haru is envious. Yusuke picks up the sketchbook and goes back to work. He doesn't say anything, but the tension in the room escalates until Haru has to shut her eyes and stop watching him.

“Done?” She whispers, eventually, when she can't take it anymore. 

The smile Yusuke graces her with is almost the end of her. He closes the sketchbook and places it on the desk; it all seems excruciating slow. 

“Do I get a reward for being so patient?”

That makes Yusuke laugh as he sits next to her on the bed. He touches her cheek and leans down to kiss her, “Of course you do.”

* * *

Futaba circles the date of Ren's return to Tokyo on the calendar at LeBlanc. When less than a week remains, she begins crossing off the days as they pass.

“Futaba-chan is excited for Ren-kun to come back,” Haru tells Sojiro one afternoon as she's drying coffee mugs. School will resume for all of them soon. Haru's never found the end of summer melancholy before, but she's feeling it a bit this year.

“She's a little _too_ excited,” Sojiro responds. Haru tries to figure out the implication of his inflection.

“She just misses him.” Haru feels a need to defend Futaba, maybe because she's recently come to understand the desire to be around someone constantly. Two months was a long time.

Sojiro gives her a wry smile and places two mugs back on the shelf. “I suppose we all miss him a bit. Just don't tell anyone I said so.”

Haru smiles and is about to reply when Futaba crashes through Le Blanc's front door and flops on a bar stool.

“Sojirooooo. I hunger.”

A plate of curry appears in front of Futaba, and she immediately wolfs if down. Sojiro is watching her fondly as she piles the curry into her mouth. The curry is gone before Futaba speaks again. 

“How was school?”

Futaba launches into a too-detailed explanation of something involving the computer club. Sojiro looks like he's trying to keep up, at first, but eventually his eyes glaze over, and he just looks happy that Futaba is excited. Haru recuses herself to wipe off the booths until Futaba burns herself out.

“I need a smoke,” Sojiro says when Futaba is done, “Haru, hold down the fort.”

“Yes, sir!” Haru calls back, and the bell on the door jingles when Sojiro exits.

Futaba is still seated at the counter, and it occurs to Haru that she hasn't been alone with Futaba in a few weeks. She can almost predict how the conversation will go.

“So, you and Inari,” she spins in her stool to look at Haru.

_Sigh._

“How's it goin’?”

Haru tries to filter through her relationship with Yusuke to find something she's willing to tell Futaba. She doesn't want to talk about sex, or art, or art-related sex. Futaba would never let her live _that_ down.

“...Fine,” she answers knowing Futaba won't settle for that.

Futaba grins, “Gonna miss the attic?”

The question catches Haru off-guard. She wipes the same spot on the table three times thinking of how to respond. “Yes, actually.”

Futaba is still grinning but something about her expression makes Haru think she's not about to get teased. They lapse into silence for a moment before Haru realizes that Futaba seems a bit out of sorts.

“Futaba-chan, are you okay?” Haru leaves the rag on the booth and sits beside Futaba on a stool. 

“I'm okay.” She kicks her feet against the bar, and she suddenly looks very young. Haru has to remind herself that Futaba actually has more relationship experience than she does.

“Are you excited for Ren-kun to come back?”

Futaba nods but the excitement isn't reflected on her features, “I am, but I wonder if he'll be disappointed at how much I feel like I need him around.”

“Why would he be disappointed? You're doing really well.” She looks uncertain, so Haru places her hand on Futaba's shoulder.

“I miss him too much, I think.”

Haru thinks about how strange it feels to wake up in her apartment alone; even after just a couple months, she expects Yusuke to be there and feels a bit lost when he isn't. Futaba is grappling with something much bigger.

“I think I understand,” Haru replies, squeezing Futaba’s shoulder. “No one would ever be disappointed in how much you've matured.”

Futaba smiles, “It'll be really nice to have him back.”

* * *

It's the day before Ren is set to return when Yusuke finishes the painting. He pulls an all-nighter when Haru doesn't stay over to get it done. A piece like this won't be easy to complete in his dorm room or one of the classrooms at school.

As soon as it dries, Yusuke covers it and waits for Haru to come in for her shift. In a couple of days he won't be here to greet her like this, and he feels forlorn about it. He imagines Haru drifting away when summer ends and days become busier.

The door downstairs jangles, and Yusuke paces the length of the attic twice. Haru is talking to Sojiro, and her voice becomes audible as she moves toward the stairs. Yusuke peers over the railing until he can see her; Haru waves. Yusuke almost forgets to greet her in return as she climbs the stairs.

“I finished it!” he blurts when he can't wait any longer.

They hadn't really talked about it since Yusuke sketched her. Had she forgotten? Haru only looks confused for a second, though, before responding, “...Of me?”

Yusuke nods, taking Haru's hand and pulling her over to the covered easel. He pulls the cover off, and Haru stares for a few seconds before blushing _spectacularly._

“I’m thinking of titling it _Kitsune no Yumeiri_.”

Haru’s nude, of course, but Yusuke thinks there's artistic modesty in his portrayal. He’s particularly happy with the lighting--the depiction of the sunshower, and the way the light reflects off Haru, and the droplets of water. It’s almost a rainbow, but not _quite_. 

Haru struggles to form a response. “Yusuke-kun, it's…”

He deflates like a punctured balloon, “...Bad?”

“...No!” Haru almost shouts, “It's not _bad_ at all. It's just...me, so it's embarrassing.”

Haru never evaluated herself accurately, regardless of what Yusuke told her. “Why, though? You’re beautiful; I don't think I did you justice.”

 _That_ makes her blush even more, and Haru buries her face in her hands. “The foxes…” She peers at the painting from between her fingers, “...They're?”

“Symbolic,” Yusuke finishes. He's especially proud of the subtlety of the motif in the painting. “It's like _The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife_ but less explicit.”

Even Haru, with no artistic background, knows _that_ painting. She's uncovers her face and looks at Yusuke in disbelief, “You can't show this to _anyone_.”

“But there's a contest at school at the end of the year, and I thought--”

“ _No_.” 

“Why?”

“Because it's obviously _me_ , and anyone who sees it will recognize that.” From the tone of her voice, Yusuke tries to gauge if Haru is angry.

“But--”

“I’m just going to...take this with me.” Haru wraps and cloth around the painting, picks it up, and walks downstairs. Yusuke stares at the spot where she'd stood for a long time, confused.

* * *

Ren arrives in the early afternoon, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and pulling a suitcase. Futaba launches herself at him with such force that he nearly falls over catching her.

“You're back.” Futaba's words are muffled into Ren's shoulder.

Sojiro gives Ren a look that says _watch where you put your hands._ Yusuke looks between them and doesn't want to touch that situation.

“There's a night of overlap,” Sojiro says eventually to Yusuke. 

Futaba releases Ren and turns to Sojiro, “Ren can stay in my room!”

The look Sojiro gives both Futaba and Ren makes Yusuke sweat just imagining being the target of it. “That will _never_ happen.”

“But--” Futaba starts, and Sojiro holds up a hand. 

“Futaba, did you really think I'd say yes to that? It's bad enough that--” Sojiro stops and sighs, “I've enabled all sorts of behavior here but _there's a line_ , Futaba, and you found it.” 

She huffs, and Ren doesn't respond at all, for reasons Yusuke assumes involve self preservation.

“I'll sleep on the couch,” Yusuke offers, mostly to end the awkward, pseudo-family conflict he's observing.

“Can't you stay with Haru?” Futaba asks.

 _Maybe not after yesterday_. “Not tonight, I don't think,” Yusuke says instead.

Futaba hones in on Yusuke's hesitation, “Did you guys have a fight?”

“I've had enough excitement for one afternoon,” Sojiro interjects. “Yusuke, you can stay in the guest room at the house.”

Left alone, Ren and Futaba descend upon Yusuke; both of them can be strangely persistent.

“Not a...fight,” Yusuke relents when he can't take their matching stares. “There’s just something we didn't see eye to eye on”

“You showed her the art, didn't you?”

“Art?” It's the first word Ren utters since saying hello.

“Oh, you missed it! Inari has a collection of 2-D Harus in a sketchbook.”

Yusuke's cheeks heat up, “It's not--”

Futaba grins, “She didn't appreciate your suggestive fox art.”

Yusuke’s mind is wiped blank by Futaba's words, “...How do you know about that?”

“The wiretap,” Futaba answers without remorse, “I wanted to see if it still worked--

“Futaba,” Ren jumps in, “you can't just _spy_ on people--”

“It was helpful before!”

“Futaba,” a _horrible_ thought flashes in Yusuke's mind, “have you been spying on me all summer?” The prospect of it is too much to contemplate.

“No! I swear, I just remembered it was there from back when, you know, and I was curious if it was still functional.”

Yusuke chooses to believe her because what choice does he have? Even Ren, usually so unflappable, is looking at Futaba in disbelief.

“Disable it,” says Ren.

Futaba scoffs but grabs her laptop off the bar and opens it. “You guys are no fun.”

While Futaba works, Ren makes coffee and passes Yusuke a cup. “So...you drew Haru...naked?”

“It's artistic!”

“Did you ask first?” Ren looks like he thinks it's not outside the realm of possibility. The situation with Ann is definitely going through his mind.

“Of course I _asked_ ,” Yusuke doesn't mask that he feels a bit insulted. “And Haru agreed.”

Ren's surprise is conveyed with the slightest raise of his eyebrows, and they vanish into his fluffy hair. “Then why is she upset?”

“Inari wants to hang it up in public!”

“ _Shut up_ , Futaba!”

She sticks out her tongue before turning back to her laptop. Yusuke's embarrassed for snapping at her, even though he's argued with Futaba before about something similar.

“Can I see it?” Ren asks.

“ _No!_ ” 

“Why?”

As usual, Ren makes Yusuke stop and think. The idea of showing Ren the piece upsets him on a visceral level that abstractly imagining it hanging in an art gallery hadn't. Of course, people would see it either way but something about _Ren_ seeing it…

“... Because it's private.” Yusuke's cheeks redden, and Ren starts laughing. He doesn't want to tell Ren, Futaba, or _anyone_ about the painting. “I think I understand her perspective now.” 

Ren is still laughing, and Yusuke feels the embarrassment of the situation acutely. He _would_ get so distracted by his own lofty art ambitions that he'd overlook Haru's feelings; she was good enough to even let him draw her, and he had to go and push too far.

“She'll understand if you go talk to her,” Futaba chimes in. 

“Go now,” Ren agrees.

Yusuke eyes them both suspiciously, “You two just want me to leave.”

Futaba and Ren respond with identical, innocent smiles.

Yusuke miscalculates his subway fair and has to get off three stops too early. By the time he gets to Haru's apartment building he's out of breath; the fitness required to be a phantom thief had clearly waned somewhat in the intervening year.

He's nervous, definitely, when he holds up his hand to rap on Haru's door--they hadn't _fought_ , not exactly, but it _was_ the first time they'd disagreed about anything. 

* * *

The knock on her door startles Haru; she hadn't been asleep, not really, but she couldn't say she had read any words from the book beside her in quite a while, either. 

Yusuke's face is distorted through the peephole, and Haru unlatches the deadbolt to open the door. Yusuke looks uncharacteristically self-conscious, shuffling from one foot to another.

“I'm sorry,” he blurts, breathless, before Haru can speak.

“Did you _walk_ here?” Haru brushes past the apology. 

“...Just from three stops too early,” Yusuke leans against the doorframe.

“Come inside.” Haru goes to her kitchen and gets a bottle of tea and cups.

When both of them are seated at Haru's small table, Yusuke broaches the subject again. “Do you regret letting me draw you?”

“No!” Her feelings are a jumble, and Haru tries to sort them out before continuing, “It's flattering, and so like _you_ to want to do it.” She's smiling and blushing, and Yusuke is looking at her, confused. 

“But you didn't like it?”

“That's not what I said.”

Yusuke looks down at his glass of tea and swirls the contents around. “Ren asked to look at the painting.”

Haru makes a choking noise, “I hope you told him 'no.’”

“Well, it's not like I'm in possession of the painting anymore to show anyone.” Both of them turn to look at the painting, conspicuously leaning against the wall beside the bed.

“What did you tell Ren?”

“...That it was private.”

She can't help it; she starts laughing. Yusuke looks offended. It's just like him to miss something so obvious. Haru crawls around the table to sit in front of him. “So, you understand it now? It _is_ private.”

Yusuke looks at the back of the painting again, “Do you want to...get rid of it?” 

Really, though, Haru didn't mind the painting’s existence, even if it went _way_ beyond the sketch she'd expected. She'd turned it around twice in the last twenty-four hours and just stared at it. It was embarrassing at first, but also so obviously how Yusuke would express his feelings for her.

“I said it was flattering, didn’t I? It has its applications; I just don't think displayed in public is one of them.” 

Haru leans in to kiss him, intending to pull away when Yusuke stops her with a hand on the back of her neck. She puts just enough distance between them to gauge his expression. 

“What sorts of applications?”

“ _Private_ things.”

Yusuke laughs, “Don’t let Futaba near any of your technology, then.”

Haru's about to ask Yusuke to explain exactly what he means by that when he kisses her again.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of Yusuke's painting is [Wikipedia-level Japanese.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kitsune_no_yomeiri)
> 
> Reviews are love!


End file.
